


holding the pieces together

by supernaturalsun



Series: to bend and break [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, between tyson and himself, no exact praise kink but praising happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturalsun/pseuds/supernaturalsun
Summary: “I’m in desperate need of a hug,” he quietly admits. His voice doesn’t break and he doesn’t start crying. Tyson takes pride in both those facts.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Tyson Barrie
Series: to bend and break [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905841
Comments: 24
Kudos: 107





	holding the pieces together

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, here I am using a rarepair to fill one of the prompt from the Hockey RPF Discord : "I'm in desperate need of a hug." 
> 
> I'm pretty new at the whole writing porn thing (this wasn't even supposed to turn smutty but, eh) and the dirty talk probably kind of sucks (not in the good way) but I tried my best.
> 
> Insp for this loosely fueled by [this pic](https://macknnons.tumblr.com/post/624838261007908864). Please someone gives this boy a hug.

_ Okay, okay, okay, okay,  _ okay _. _

**Not okay** .

Tyson’s not okay. He hasn’t been for awhile and repeating the contrary in his mind like a mantra is not gonna change anything to that fact.

Losing 5-2 to the Habs had sucked. Being on the ice for three of the goals they’d taken and none of the one they’d scored had been fucking fantastic.

The only bright light in Tyson’s evening is the fact that he has to be checked up by the doctors for a bad contact that only leaves him with sore ribs, and he’s able to shower alone on the deserted locker room afterwards.

The banging noise of the door opening and closing barely checks Tyson out of his mind. He’s conscious of the steps that are being taken into his direction but he wait until the last moment to raise his eyes and find out about the identity of the intruder.

“Hey Tys, you’re good ?” Freddie asks, his voice soft, the hint of concern hard to miss.

Tyson hangs his head, eyes to the floor, forearms still resting on his thighs. He can’t even imagine what picture is making, sitting alone in the dressing room with his boxers, his face probably betraying his feelings, eyes so red where he rubbed them people could think he already cried when he’s just been trying not to for the past half hour.

The contrast with Freddie standing tall in his suit a couple feet in front of him must be astonishing.

Freddie’s hand lands on his shoulder and Tyson doesn’t jump even though he absolutely didn’t see it coming. He huffs out a breath, closing his eyes. He shouldn’t— he shouldn’t let Freddie see him like this. It’s embarrassing to a point that’s way too much for his goalie.

The touch doesn’t go away, Freddie’s thumb lightly rubbing the skin there, contact comforting. 

Eventually, Tyson opens his eyes again, levels his head higher, forcing himself to meet Freddie’s gaze.

“I’m in desperate need of a hug,” he quietly admits. His voice doesn’t break and he doesn’t start crying. Tyson takes pride in both those facts.

He’s not sure what prompted him to say it but now the words are out there and Freddie has exactly five seconds to let him know if he should regret it or not. Honestly, no one should have to deal with his shitty feelings, he’s a big boy now and everything.

“Hey, come here,” Freddie answers, even softer than earlier, and the hand he had on Tyson’s shoulder move to be extended in front of Tyson’s body, inviting.

Tyson’s brain has one moment of doubt but then he figures it’s too late to backtrack anyway and he accepts Freddie’s offer, pulling himself up and bumping chest first against Freddie. Tyson feels himself flush, awkward, but then it all falls into place easily.

Freddie wraps his arms around Tyson’s waist, one hand coming up against Tyson’s nape to move his head into resting against Freddie’s shoulder. Tyson ends up with his nose pressed directly against Freddie’s neck, odor of his shower gel heavy and comforting under his nostrils.

Tyson closes his eyes again, hands going to the small of Freddie’s back, under his jacket, his fists lightly fisting the fabric of his t-shirt. Tyson lets himself be and he has no idea how long they stay like that, Freddie’s palm rubbing soothing circles against his back, Freddie’s voice murmuring things he can’t understand against his ear. Tyson figures it must be danish and it doesn’t matter if he can’t understand the words. He’s never heard Freddie speak the language before but he finds it pretty, the sounds lulling him a little even if they don’t make sense to him.

There’s a kiss pressed against his temple before Freddie switches back to english, which Tyson needs a moment to register. “Hm ?” He elegantly asks against Freddie’s neck. It makes him laugh softly, breath skating over Tyson’s face.

“I asked you if you were feeling better and if I could let you go,” he repeats for Tyson and Tyson flushes again, trying to hide his face furthermore and to lean away from Freddie to give him his liberty back at the same time.

“I’m gonna let you get dressed and wait for you outside, alright ?” Freddie informs him more than ask and Tyson feels like a little kid for one second. When Freddie’s been looking at him expectantly for longer than normal, Tyson realizes he’s actually waiting for an answer and he nods, confirms he’ll be quick.

Freddie leaves the room and Tyson is left on his own. He’s never going to leave his half naked state if he pauses to study the moment that just happened so he tries to go on autopilot, reaching for his clothes on his bag. One thing he knows for sure is that he feels better, lighter than before. It’s the only thing that’s going to matter until he can reach his bed and forget about tonight.

When he follows Freddie out to the parking lot, Tyson figures they’re going to wish each other good night and part ways except Freddie grabs his wrist when Tyson starts to head for his car. “Come on, I’m not leaving you alone right now,” Freddie says and Tyson should have questions but he finds out he doesn’t have it in him to fight it out and he goes willingly.

The drive to Freddie’s place is quiet, the car filled with the sounds of the radio as Tyson lets his eyes roam over the lights of the city that he still can’t consider home even after living there for more than a couple of months now.

Neither of them say anything as they make their way in the elevator up to Freddie’s floor and then inside of his apartment. Freddie takes his jacket when they arrive and then he sits Tyson at the counter of the kitchen island, putting a huge glass of water in front of him before rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt to start rummaging around his kitchen. 

The air in the room is filled by the music from the radio Freddie turned on when they arrived and the sounds of Freddie gathering things from his fridge to reheat and silverware for them to use. Tyson’s never been known as the quiet type, always having something to say, a joke to share or a stress relieving pep talk to deliver. Things have changed, since he arrived to Toronto. 

Yes, Tyson is still a very social person and he knows how to make friends, small talk coming in easily for him. He misses EJ coming for the rookies, JT and Josty teasing each other, Z bragging about his amazing style and sharing photos of his daughter. Tavaras is a good captain but he’s not Gabe. Mitch’s hectic energy can be good for the team’s spirits but it’s sometimes a lot to handle. Freddie— he fits in the team, there’s no denying it, but it’s  _ different. _

This kind of quiet, Tyson finds himself revelling in it.

Freddie catches him looking at some photos pinned on the fridge and he tells Tyson about his sister, their parents, the rest of his family in Denmark. Tyson gives back some intel of his own, talks about moving across states all the time when he was younger, what he likes most about his baby sister. It’s easy, takes his mind of the game. Without noticing it, Tyson finds his shoulders relaxing, the knots in his stomach unfurling.

Once they’re done eating, Tyson grabs his phone to open the Uber app while Freddie’s clearing their plates and he doesn’t have the time to order a car before Freddie’s in front of him to lead him otherwise.

“I’m gonna get you sweatpants and a t-shirt. Tomorrow’s an off day, you can call a cab to get your car in the morning, come on.”

And with his thumb still hovering over the  _ order  _ button, Tyson locks his phone and lets himself be guided to Freddie’s bedroom. He might regret it in the morning, to not be in his own place to laze around all day. The thing is, the perspective of putting his shoes and coat back on to go back into Toronto’s cold night doesn’t sound appealing at all. Freddie’s place feels safe, warm and comforting, Tyson can allow himself some more hours in it.

Tyson follows Freddie to his closet and he chuckles when he’s handed clothes that are obviously going to be too big for him. Freddie gives him the direction to the second bathroom, indicates the existence of a spare toothbrush, and Tyson is left looking at himself in a mirror, at 11pm in a apartment that isn’t his.

Objectively, he looks like shit. There are dark circles under his eyes, lines that used to not be there prominent on his forehead. He no longer feels like he’s going to cry but his head still burn a little, fatigue betraying him all over. 

Freddie didn’t give him Leafs stuff so he doesn’t end up with a 34 over his chest but the shirt is, just as predicted, too big for him, not really unveiling one shoulder but still reaching down his thighs. It’s soft though, smells fruity from Freddie’s detergent. Tyson likes it. He doesn’t put on the sweatpants because A) he’s gonna look ridiculous in them and B) he usually only sleeps with his underwear. He keeps them under his arms while he joins Freddie to say good night, hovering by the door.

“Stay,” Freddie asks and Tyson frowns, confused. Freddie turns his head towards his bed. Tyson opens his mouth and close it right after, not sure he understood things the right way. “I could use a cuddle too.”

It feels like a lie, something Freddie is saying to indulge him. Tyson would like to feel offended, to be able to call Freddie on his bullshit and go on to find the spare bedroom by himself (it’s not like the hallway has dozens of doors anyway). Tyson would love to go away and be good at dealing with his feelings on his own good, except that’s what he’s been doing since the beginning of the season and now his body is telling him to stop.

Tyson nods, mumbles a “Sure, if that’s what you want,” before dropping the sweatpants at the bottom of the bed and crawling under the covers. He swears he can hear Freddie’s smile when the older man reach the switch to turn the lights off and join him on the mattress.

Freddie doesn’t linger on his own side of the bed, he immediately pulls Tyson’s back flush to his chest, one arm around his middle, chin resting against Tyson’s shoulder, their heads sharing a pillow.

“Good night, Tyson,” Freddie murmurs against his skin, his voice so low it’s almost hard to understand. There is a kiss being pressed against his skin and Tyson feels a big breath against his neck, the kind you take when you’ve settled somewhere and are ready to move on to the next thing. 

The next thing being sleeping, because Freddie’s going slack behind him, his arm easy on Tyson’s middle, breathing going slower. 

“What’s wrong ?” He asks after a moment and it takes a couple of seconds for Tyson to register it happened. “Every muscle in your body feel pulled taut, you need to relax.”

Tyson sighs, refraining a protest because all in all, he knows Freddie’s right. “I’m sorry,” he ends up mumbling.

“It’s okay, just let everything go. Are you uncomfortable ?”

“I— no, I’m good, it’s just, I’m sorry. For you having to deal with me being a mess right now and for the game tonight. You deserved way better.”

He feels Freddie taking another big breath behind him and the hold he has on Tyson tightens even more, no matter how impossible Tyson thought it could be. There’s a thumb caressing his abs over his t-shirt and a kiss deposited on his neck. “Tyson, I swear it’s okay, it was a bad night for everyone, don’t take the blame,” Freddie’s voice says, calm as ever. “If you really want to please me, please let that tension go away.”

The smile is easy to spot against his skin and Tyson gives up on a small smile of his own. It’s not fair to Freddie for him to play martyr when Freddie just wanted him to take care of him for one night. His goalie can’t be taken accountable for the way Tyson has refused to let new people get close to him since the beginning of the season. It’s not— it’s not fair. 

“Right, sorry, I’m gonna do better” he answers, probably a little too loud for the room. Freddie laughs behind him, his lips skating over Tyson’s nape and - it’s a nice feeling, Tyson could get used to this.

Just like he did in the locker room earlier, Tyson will his muscles into going lax. He focuses on the warmth of Freddie’s body, the hand still moving on his stomach, the nice smell of the sheets mixed with the one of Freddie’s body wash. It’s— good, comforting, easy,  _ safe _ .

It’s something Tyson hasn’t had a taste off in months and he forgot how much he loved this, being tucked in somebody’s arms. He’d always someone to do that with him back in Denver. Nate or Gabe would happily indulge him when he was single, and he’d had a boyfriend of six months before the trade, to cuddle with him at night. Said boyfriend broke up with him after Tyson learnt about his trade because he couldn’t do long distance. 

Tyson hooked up in Victoria during the summer, never twice with the same person, but nothing happened since he got to Toronto and his body had clearly missed this, being close to someone, solid warmth enveloping him.

Freddie’s fingers have slipped beneath his t-shirt and the skin on skin contact raise a shiver that travels up to the top of his spine. Freddie’s impossibly close, one knee between Tyson legs, head just behind Tyson’s shoulder. 

Tyson might not do it consciously but he does end up rocking lightly backwards. It’s a reflex more than anything and it takes Freddie’s breath hitching for him to notice. 

“Tys,” Freddie murmurs, voice so low Tyson almost has trouble understanding him.

_ Fuck. _

“I— I’m sorry.” 

And Tyson has no idea how many times he said those exact same words tonight but he needs to figure something out. It’s still early, he can tell Freddie he was falling asleep, not realizing what he was doing -which, kind of was the truth, to be fair- and they could put some space between them and this night wouldn’t turn into an even bigger disaster than it started out to be.

Tyson wants to get more words out of his mouth except Freddie takes his breath away a little, hand going lower on his abdomen, thumb just above the elastic of his boxers. A big breath, once again, and then words, enunciated clear as day right in his ear. “I’m good. Do you want me to give you some space ?”

His heart is hammering inside his chest and Freddie’s hand is still there and his mouth is so close to Tyson’s face and— there’s an offer, lying there, and Tyson is having a hard time accepting that he’s not imagining it. 

Right then, it’s easy to notice Freddie’s dick against his ass, not hard but _ present.  _ Tyson knows his own dick is starting to get interested in the situation, wired up by the proximity of a hot body. He can’t do something he’ll regret in the morning but he can’t  _ not  _ test this. It’s been too long and Tyson— he needs to let go.

He pushes back against Freddie again, arching his head and baring his neck. The next second, Freddie’s mouth is there, biting a spot at the base of his throat. Tyson whines. “I’ve got you. Tell me what you want.”

Tyson’s breath catches, moving his head even further out so Freddie can keep biting and sucking kisses on the tender skin there. The fingers on his abdomen have moved to his hip, holding Tyson in place, and Tyson throws back his own hand to grip Freddie’s leg, trying to get him even closer, gaining some friction. 

Freddie’s beard scratches against his sensitive skin and a particularly well placed kiss makes Tyson moans out loud, which prompts Freddie to speak again, his voice the hottest thing Tyson has ever heard. “Come on babe, tell me what you  _ need _ .” 

_ Fuck. _

Tyson groans, keeps grinding on Freddie’s dick to make his intentions clear. The concept of him being able to get what he’s desperately been missing tonight, with Freddie of all people, still felt pretty unreal. Freddie squeezes his hip in answer. “Use your words, Tys.”

And Tyson, he wants to be rebellious for a second, get off without doing what he was told to do,  _ for once _ . His brain does recognize how stupid it would be in this particular situation. “Fuck,” he starts with. “Please Freddie, fuck me.”

It’s Freddie’s turn to groan, swearing words Tyson can’t recognize tumbling from his lips. Freddie detaches himself from Tyson and he wants to whine at the loss, his back hitting the mattress since he’s no longer leaning against Freddie’s solid body. It takes all of two seconds for Freddie to rearrange them, falling over Tyson with one elbow by his head, one knee between Tyson’s legs.

The room’s pitch back and Tyson kind of wishes he could see Freddie’s face. It sounds like he’s just as calm and in control as he always sees him but Tyson refuses to believe Freddie doesn’t have at least a flush high on his cheek. Tyson knows that on his side he already looks fucked up, skin tomato red and a neck that’s gonna turn some other pretty colors in the next hour.

Tyson can’t see but he can feel Freddie’s face coming close to his own and he levels one hand up, cupping Freddie’s cheek to bring him down, erasing the last inch between the two of them. Tyson’s always loved kissing and the hot press of Freddie’s lips against his own sends a warm wave deep in the middle of his chest. Freddie’s free hand goes to his curls, pulling his head back a little and Tyson whines, opening his mouth under Freddie. 

Tyson keeps one hand on Freddie’s jaw, his thumb pressing against the sharp bone, and he lets the other one get under Freddie’s shirt, roam against his chest and his ribs, up his back and down his ass. He uses his grip there to push Freddie down, their dicks rubbing together through the layers of both their underwear. It makes them both groan at the same side and Tyson can’t help but feel proud of himself. “Freddie, please,” he pleads when they break their kiss. “I want it now.”

He’d love to kiss Freddie some more, get to know his body, map his chest and put some bruises on the top of his hips. Those are things he’d love to do on any given day but he’s wound up tonight, too much feelings and pent-up energy he has to let go  _ somewhere. _ Now.

Freddie lets his forehead rest against Tyson’s, breath ghosting over Tyson’s lips, and Tyson pushes the heel of his hand against Freddie’s boxers. “I really need you to put that thing in me, right now.” 

“ _ God, _ ” Freddie huffs in answer and Tyson raises his head to peck him on the mouth, wriggling under Freddie, egging him on. His hands travel up Freddie’s body to force him to take off his shirt. “Alright, get naked. Can I turn on the light ? I’d love to see your face.”

His voice kind of lacks of the confidence he had before when he asks his question so Tyson is quick to kiss him again, hard. “Yes,  _ please _ .” And when Freddie moves to the other side of the bed to grab their supplies, Tyson scrambles to take off the remnants of his clothes.  _ Freddie’s _ clothes.

The light from the bedside table cast a low glow in the room that’s not too harsh but just enough to allow Tyson to study Freddie’s features when he comes back to him. He still looks pretty composed but there’s undeniable heat in his eyes, hair standing up where Tyson moved his hand. He looks good, he looks into  _ this,  _ and like, Tyson didn’t think that this was a pity fuck but it still feels good anyway, to know that he’s  _ wanted _ like that.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Freddie declares, the once-over he does obvious in a way he probably wants noticed, eyes hungry. Tyson manages to blush even more, preening under the attention. 

“Come here.” Tyson makes grabby hands, pulling Freddie back into place. The movement makes their dick brush together and it sends a jolt of electricity up Tyson’s body. 

Freddie kisses him again, one hand back in Tyson’s hair, and Tyson goes pliant under him. His fingers return on their discovery trip, thumbs teasing nipples, nails grazing ribs until he can wrap one hand around Freddie’s length, making him bite on Tyson’s bottom lip. No blood gets drawn but Freddie still lets go of Tyson’s mouth, swearing before he goes back to his jaw, making his way down Tyson’s neck.

Again, Tyson bares his throat for easy access and Freddie doesn’t let a single spot behind. “You’re so hot Tyson.” He takes one nipple in his mouth and Tyson cries out. He has to let go of Freddie’s dick and put his hand back on his waist, Freddie going down his chest. “I don’t care that you played bad tonight. You’re an incredible player who deserve way more recognition anyway.” His other nipple gets the same treatment, bite, lick, kiss goodbye and then Freddie moves on to his abs, laying more kisses there. “You’re so beautiful, I bet you don’t even know how pretty you are. I can’t wait to see your face when I make you come.” Tyson makes a high pitched noise at that. It turns in a choked-out moan when without any warning, Freddie takes him into his mouth. 

His head falls down against the pillow, eyes shut down tight. And then he remembers than he can watch, want to watch, and he raises his head again, eyes going to Freddie’s face, his cheeks hollowed around Tyson’s dick, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Please don’t pull my hair but you can put your hands wherever you want, ready for my fingers ?” Freddie asks after he’s gotten his mouth off Tyson with an obscenely loud pop. 

Tyson nods eagerly before thinking of rasping out a “Yeah yeah, please keep going,” and settling one hand on Freddie’s shoulder and the other on his jaw, feeling him work. He hears more than see the bottle of lube being uncapped. When there’s a finger prodding at his entrance, Tyson can feel that Freddie warmed it up but he still hisses a little at the contact before relaxing into it. 

He focuses on the feelings of Freddie swallowing around him, his other hand at the base of Tyson’s cock and his tongue thoroughly flicking at the top before he goes down on him again. It makes the transition to two fingers in his ass easier, his hand flexing on Freddie’s shoulder when Freddie  _ twists  _ and  _ finds  _ and Tyson whimpers, his eyes shutting down again.

The second he moves to three, Freddie sucks on him so tight Tyson has to scramble at his face, makes him ease down. Freddie lets go of his dick, right hand still holding the base, and he raises a questioning eyebrow at Tyson. His lips are puffed out, slick from spit and pre-come and Tyson whines, wants to haul Freddie up so he can kiss him hard for ten thousands minutes. Except he can’t, not while Freddie has half of one hand buried in him. “Fuck, I— I can’t come right now, need you to be inside me first.”

Freddie smiles at that, twisting his fingers with the hand inside Tyson and rubbing his hip soothingly with the other. Tyson uses the break to try to get a grip on his breathing, something that he more or less manage to do after a couple of minutes. “Okay, I’m good, fuck, come on.”

The look Freddie sends in his direction before pulling his hand out is heated and full of promises. Freddie pulls a pillow under his hips, bringing him forward a little, and from this angle Tyson can’t really see him wrapping the condom around his dick and lubing it up but he definitely feels Freddie at his entrance.

Freddie’s also back up there, an elbow braced besides Tyson’s head, his lips capturing Tyson’s mouth in a kiss softer than Tyson expected. “Okay, relax for me now babe.” Tyson’s hands scramble at Freddie’s back and he hisses when Freddie’s dick first breaches him. It’s been - fuck, it’s been  _ months _ , and Tyson needs a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Which Freddie happily gives him, kissing along his jaw and telling him he’s doing  _ so good  _ before finally sliding all the way in.

Bottoming out makes Freddie groan, loud in the otherwise silent room, and then he pulls out before coming back, rhythm languid. Tyson can’t remember the last person he hooked up for the first time with without any kind of urgency in their movements. He doesn’t think he ever let someone new lay him out like this, seeing him so bare. Surprisingly enough, Tyson finds out that he doesn’t care.

That’s until Freddie moves and Tyson’s dick rubs against his abs, still very much alive, and  _ fuck _ , he’s gonna need them to step it up now. Tysons lifts his hips to meet Freddie’s thrust, surprising him if the groan he lets out is to be trusted. “Fuck, yeah. I got you, Tys,  _ I got you _ .”

The waves of pleasures makes Tyson want to close his eyes except he doesn’t want to stop looking. Up above him, with his face scrunched up in focus and raw power in the way he holds his shoulders, Freddie looks fucking magnificent. Tyson levels his hand up Freddie’s face to bring him down into a kiss. It’s more a mesh of lips than anything, Tyson moaning on almost every trust, Freddie coming up with new words Tyson can’t understand. 

They’re more frantic now, Freddie finding the good angle to hit Tyson’s prostate and make him cry out on every push of his dick. Tyson tries to wrap one hand around his own length but Freddie beats him to it, stroking him more or less in the same rhythm as his fucking. 

“I’m close,” Tyson says against Freddie’s lips and he manages to get a cohesive kiss out of him before Freddie’s putting all his focus back down and it’s a minute or maybe two before Tyson’s throat’s giving out his loudest moan and he’s shooting come up his own chest.

Freddie doesn’t keep his hand on his dick for too long, and Tyson is thankful for that, ever so sensitive at that exact moment, but he does fuck Tyson even harder than before, his free hand bruising where it’s holding Tyson’s hip. “Come on Freddie, you were so good to me, you deserve this. Fill me up.”

It takes two more thrusts and then Freddie’s coming too, buried deep inside Tyson, his teeth sinking into the thin skin of his throat. That one’s gonna leave a hell of a memory and Tyson feels oddly  _ satisfied  _ by the idea.

They stay like that for a moment, mind in an orgasm-induced haze, the two of them trying to catch their breath until Tyson has to wiggle his hips, starting to get uncomfortable. He hisses for a second when Freddie pulls out but it doesn’t feel  _ bad _ , per se. Foreign, odd,  _ good. _

“Don’t move,” Freddie orders him once he’s moved aside.

Tyson would love to laugh at that if only he had the energy to. Instead, he just hums a noise that’s supposed to be a yes and he closes his eyes for the minute it takes Freddie to dispose of the condom and reach his bathroom to come back with a wet towel. Tyson lets himself be cleaned up, lying on his back until Freddie joins him, turning off the bedside lamp and pulling the covers up their bodies.

“Come here,” Tyson mumbles, trying to make grabby hands in the dark with his uncoordinated limbs. He hears Freddie’s laugh and then there’s a leg being thrown between his own, Freddie lying half on top of him and palming his cheek until they can meet for a kiss.

Tyson’s not in a position where he can do much so he just settles one hand on Freddie’s back, the other at his nape, and he kisses him, slow and languid, the daze from his orgasm lessened but still enough to make him feel like he’s floating, muscles liquid, head quiet.

They go slow, easy, Freddie’s thumb rubbing gently along his jaw. Tyson melts under his lips, even more pliant than before. This is not leading anywhere, his dick is soft by his hip and Tyson feels perfect, maybe a little too hot but not enough to care.

“You were amazing,” Freddie murmurs against his cheek before kissing Tyson just below his eyelid. Tyson can’t believe he’s the one receiving praises when Freddie’s the one who just did all the work to fuck him in the most exquisite way. Tyson wants to thank him, for everything, but he  _ knows  _ he’s gonna put too much meaning behind the word and he can’t do that. Not now. Instead of speaking up, Tyson turns his head to catch Freddie’s mouth with his own again.

Tyson couldn’t say how long they stay like that, just kissing, his nails light on Freddie’s back. Eventually, their movements grow heavy, uncoordinated, fatigue taking over, and Freddie pecks him one last time before backing up a little.

“Hey, how do you want to sleep ? Back to being the little spoon ?”

Tyson wishes he could see Freddie’s face even though he knows he couldn’t find a form of judgment there. There hasn’t been any all night.

“I—” Tyson tries to begin and the truth is, he’s not sure what he wants. Having Freddie’s solid body enveloping him from behind has been great but keeping him on top of Tyson, warm as a blanket, sounds pretty nice too. “I think I’m good like that.”

“Good,” Freddie answers, soft and confident the way he’s been all night. Then he’s kissing the corner of Tyson’s mouth before settling down, one arm around Tyson’s waist and his head lying on his chest, tucked under his chin. It maybe should be odd, to have this huge man who has five inches and forty pounds on him, lying on top, except it’s not, not exactly. It doesn’t seem to be bothering him so Tyson needs to stop thinking so much.

Tyson jostles them a little until he can find the perfect position for his back and the arm that’s not wrapped around Freddie’s shoulders. He’s already on his way to sleep when Freddie speaks up, almost missing up on his words. “Please don’t leave in the morning. I can drive you to the rink to get your car afterwards but please let me make you a breakfast.”

It feels like a lot of words to process in this state but his brain catches up and Tyson tenses for one second before Freddie’s caressing his ribs with his fingers, soothing. Tyson doesn’t let his heartbeat rocket up too much.  _ Stop fucking thinking.  _ “Okay. Promise, I’ll be there.”  _ You know I’d never turn down any offer for food _ , he’s not chill enough to add, but it’s okay anyway.

“Good, go to sleep now,” Freddie orders, pressing a kiss to Tyson’s chest. 

Tyson wants to say he would have never thought Freddie could be so bossy but he doesn’t have the force to. Shutting his eyes tight, he lets himself be lulled by the slow rhythm of Freddie’s breath and the tickling on his waist. He falls asleep the next minute.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ macknnons :)


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